


With This Hand

by nellipot



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Accidental Marriage, M/M, Undead, this is sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellipot/pseuds/nellipot
Summary: “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He rolled his eyes, finished the rest of the spiel with her. “The Everglots are big money. Your marriage will raise us higher than a fish merchant’s family could ever become on its own.” She looked at him drily.A Corpse Bride AU





	With This Hand

**Author's Note:**

> let me just, _rewrite the entirety of the corpse bride to my specific liking to the point that it is barely the corpse bride at all._

Armie leaned both arms on his window sill. It looked like any other day - the fish market across the street was slopping entrails into a bucket by the door, Mr. Howard and Mr. Fredrickson stopped to bow in greeting as they passed each other on the sidewalk, the horse carriages went over the cobblestones in loud clops. The only hint that today was out of the ordinary was waddling down the front steps of their dusty complex: his mother, in her best dress and pearls, no doubt snapping at his father next to her because Armie was nowhere in sight.

“This is non-negotiable,” She’d scowled. He’d given his most winning smile, even buttoning his collar up to somewhere she’d approve of before he’d gone downstairs. That was weeks ago, and despite the constant discussion since then (him starting, her holding a bony hand to his protests, an upturned nose) here they were, one day away from practically selling him off to the highest bidder. _Marriage_. The Everglots’ girl could be beautiful for all he knew, but he hated this, hated not getting to know for himself.

He straightened his kerchief, gave one last groan to the overcast sky and backed away, his mother’s screeching voice getting closer as he descended the stairs.

“There’s our boy,” She said with an outstretched hand. Armie took it, helping her down their front steps and into the carriage. It was time for good behavior. Whether he liked it or not, the Everglots had money, something his family had been lacking for a long time. Not that they would ever admit that to anyone.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He rolled his eyes, finished the rest of the spiel with her. “The Everglots are big money. This marriage will raise us higher than a fish merchant’s family could ever become on its own.” She looked at him drily.

“I know, Mother.” He said, fingering the cufflinks on each wrist. It was never a challenge to charm women; he was confident the Everglot girl would fall at his feet in no time.

The Everglot mansion was a muddled arrangement of high pillars and faded velvet; covered in the thin layer of dust that seemed to rest over the entire town no matter how long the maids scrubbed. Mr. and Mrs. Everglot were less than cordial, maybe even scarier than his mother with their sharper features, or the way Mr. Everglot took up a room (both presence and width-wise). She nudged her husband, whose mouth twitched into an almost smile.

“What a pleasure it is to have you here today,” He gritted. “Won’t you join us in the dining room for tea?”

His mother bowed. His father took off his hat. This was already excruciating.

As the double doors opened, he lingered next to the piano placed in the middle of the foyer, waving a hand across the keys.

Music, his mother always nagged, was an impractical hobby. It gained nothing, a fool’s dream; but it was one opinion Armie could tune out. It was arguably the only thing that kept him sane at a time like this.

The notes filled the mansion beautifully, wafting from corner to corner as he played a soft tune, something sullen but hopeful. Enraptured, he didn’t hear the stiff heels coming down the steps until Olivia Everglot was a mere few feet away.

“Ms. Everglot, my apologies.” He stood up and bowed, one hand on his torso.

“Don’t be, it was beautiful. And please, call me Olivia.”

Armie straightened, eyeing her from toe to top bun. She was slight under the large bust of her dress, her skin pale, her face clean. She looked at him with the same tinge in her cheeks he saw everywhere; from the old maids on the sidewalk to the girls he’d courted for days at a time, tiring of them before they could bat their eyelashes twice.

“Olivia. I’m Armand, but you can call me Armie.” He kissed her hand. She giggled. He held back a sigh.

“You two should _not_ be alone together this soon.” It was Mrs. Everglot in the doorway. “Olivia, come at once. Rehearsals will start in a moment.”

Olivia gave him an apologetic look, which he returned easily. They did share one sympathy. 

\--

“With this hand,” Armie began, for what had to be the 37th time. “Your cup will never empty.”

“Wrong,” The priest sneered, stomping his cane on the hardwood.

“Sorry.” He frowned, clenching a fist. He felt his mother staring down his spinal cord, heard his soon to be in-laws groan in frustration. He looked at his palm accusingly. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” He took the stem of the chalice between his fingers. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” He offered it to Olivia, who sipped it graciously.

“With this candle,” He dipped the candle into the flame. It didn’t light. He dipped it again. “With this candle,” He repeated, more sure.

This was completely unlike him. He was _good_ at this. He was a charmer, and this was far from charming. He could see Olivia beginning to get bored with his blunders, which was worse than her over flirtatious grins.

“Just keep going.” The priest’s mouth was pulled into a hard thin line. Armie nodded.

“I will light your way into darkness.” He turned, and as he did, the whole room was upended with shouts. He had grasped the candle with the wrong hand, knocking over the flame with a crash and setting a good portion of the burgundy tablecloth ablaze.

“Fuck,” He cursed, stomping on the fire with one foot, which pulled the tablecloth enough to spill the chalice of wine over too.

“What is so hard about four measly lines!” Mrs. Everglot shouted amongst the chaos. He tried not to glare at her, this obviously wasn’t the time.

Once the fire was out, the room was eerily quiet, everyone breathing heavily.

“This marriage cannot take place until _he_ learns how to speak properly.” Armie jerked as a shaky finger was pointed in his face, dodging the priest’s hand by a few centimeters.

“I’ll get it,” He gritted, temper starting to rumble. Why did he have to please all of these people, ones he barely knew that wanted the world from him? “If you’ll excuse me.”

He shouldered past his parents and the Everglots, out the double doors and into the night. The moon was in full view, its soft light turning the cobblestones pale. The breeze lifted his coattails pleasingly. Just a walk, he told himself. Just a walk to clear his head and he’d come right back.

The walk turned into him crossing the bridge that entered into town, along the road and into the forest where the crows rested on every tree branch. It didn’t bother him; he was too caught in his own head.

Mrs. Everglot was right. This _wasn’t_ hard. It was four lines - he sips from the cup; he lights the candle on the stand. What was stopping him in rehearsals? This was his duty. This was the only way it could be.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows,” He recited easily. Enlivened, he picked up a round smooth stone and raised it in toast. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

“With this candle,” He said, breaking a stick off a moldy stump. “I will light your way into darkness.” As the finale, he crammed his fist into his breast pocket, placing a golden band onto a nearby root. “With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

At the last syllable, the ground seemed to shake, and the chatter of the leaves grew louder as the wind picked up. Armie frowned at the sky, his oiled hair falling out of place, but looked abruptly at his hand when the nearby root grasped his wrist.

“What the fuck!” 

He fell on his backside, heels scraping into the dirt as he tried to free himself. His fingers wiggled to ease the ones wound around him but it was a tight grip. With one heavy pull the root snapped, flinging him across the forest floor with the hand still attached. He waved his arm around frantically until it fell off and ran - first backwards, then forwards with vigor.

 _Wait_. He must be going mad, because he could have sworn he heard a voice whisper behind him. He stopped, panting, and looked back to see a dark figure amongst the trees.

“I can’t handle this,” he whined. “Not this late at night.” He pushed off of a sturdy trunk and hurried towards town again, only stopping at the bridge to catch his breath.

When he looked up, the forest was the same as ever. There was no sound of footsteps or murmured voices, no shadow coming towards him. He sighed in relief, taking time to put his hands on his knees. Those were awful tricks his mind had played. He stood up, planning to stroll back to the Everglot mansion with renewed fervor, but stopped with a gasp to see a bright face in front of him. To his embarrassment, he screamed.

“You’re going the wrong way,” It laughed at him. He could only describe it as an _it_ , because this was not a man. At first glance it looked like a man – tall, lean build, a dusty white tuxedo hugging his frame. But a closer look showed the sunken parts of his temples and cheeks, the sickly color of his skin, the way his eyes were so deep set they looked constantly wide and doe-ish. His arms...you could see the bone straight through them. There was a tattered hole in his dress shirt where the ribs – the actual ribs – poked out.

“What?” Armie said, his voice hoarse. He backed away carefully but the figure stopped him, grasping his lapel. He’d used up all of his composure on the one word, so now he was shouting, scrambling backwards until he hit the railing of the bridge.

It walked slower this time, maybe trying not to startle him, which he found ridiculous, seeing as it was going to kill him in a few minutes. It was clutching its hands to its chest, Armie noticed, and then he noticed another thing – his ring, fit snuggly on its left hand.

“How did you –” He started, looking it up and down.

It followed Armie’s eyes and grinned, wiggled its fingers coyly. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.” Armie was too shocked to move as it closed the distance between them, snaked its arms around his waist.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

To his embarrassment, he collapsed.

\--

_What did you do to him, Timothée?_

_What? Nothing! He’d fainted, so I carried him all the way here. Lost an arm and a leg. Twice._

_He’s a funny color;_

_Are those real breaths?_

_Hey, back it up, stop crowding him! He’s my prince._

That was how Armie came to, with dozens of voices hurting his head and a crowd of people looming over him when he opened his eyes.

“What happened?” He whispered, hand at his temple.

“Nothing, darling, you took a fall.” Above him was the man – thing – he saw on the bridge.

“No, no, no; where am I? Where did you bring me?” He got up quickly, too quickly for his pounding head. He stumbled into the crowd where it caught him steadily by the shoulders.

“My poor thing.” It said worriedly.

“What did you do to me?” He asked, bewildered, trying to shake out of its grip.

“Timothée,” He heard someone say warily. That was when he finally took in his surroundings. Everyone here looked like the man, Timothée – with sunken faces or no faces at all – just bone and teeth and clothes. The walls and lights, even the furniture around him was like none he’d ever seen before, everything colorful and bright. Everything besides him, in his suit of dark greys and stripes.

“He’s my _husband_ Luca, he asked me himself.” Timothée pushed his hand into the person’s (thing’s? creature’s?) face. The flesh on his fingers was mostly there, some tips papery thin as if skin could wear. What was most obvious was Armie’s ring, looking fairly at home with the rest of the dazzling colors.

“I – no, I didn’t give you that.” Armie frowned, pointing at it.

“Yes you did,” Timmy said, clutching it back to his chest.

“No I _didn’t_.” Armie bit back.

“Enough.”

Armie didn’t know why he was listening to a skeleton man, but this one seemed to be in charge.

“Please, I’m not like you, I don’t belong here,” He begged to him. The being held up one hand.

“There is no way to return once you’re here.” Luca shook his head. “Did you say your marriage vows to Timothée?”

“Well, yes, technically –”

“Then you cannot break the bond. You are wedded; til death do you part.”

“Til death - _wedded_?” Armie was reeling, looking from one skeleton man to the next. Then finally at Timothée.

“How could you do this?” He accused, mostly broken. He pushed past him, not knowing where he was going, not knowing where the fuck he _was_ but needing to get out. Parts of this place were almost like a cave with many openings, so he chose one and found a room with a long wide bench. He laughed bitterly when he realized it was not a bench, but a _coffin._ He was sitting in a coffin.

Everything had happened so quickly. Not long ago, he had been sitting at his window, wishing for some wrong turn in the day to keep it from coming. But this was too much. He didn’t even know what this _was_.

“Hey.”

Armie looked up to see Timothée lingering by the entryway, shuffling his feet. A lot about him was crumbled or half put together, but his hair was thick and wavy, falling past his ears and in front of his eyes. One hand went to pull it from his face but it got caught there, snapping at the wrist, which he tried to detangle with a gasp.

“You can come in,” Armie said, biting back a chuckle. It was ridiculous. All of this was ridiculous.

“Sorry,” Timothée said, wandering in. He was mostly focused on putting his hand back together, then letting it open and close into a fist. Armie watched as he fell onto the cushion with a bounce, realizing for the first time that Timothée smelled like lavender.

“You don’t smell dead,” He pointed out with a nod.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Timothée paused, then reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a meek looking stem with papery grey petals. “I had this with me when I died. It must have carried through to the afterlife.” He twirled it in his fingers. Armie could see the warmth in his eyes, but now his own turned down, grim.

“How, um, _did_ you die, if you don’t mind me asking? Timothée, was it?”

Timothée nodded with a grin. “Or Tim. Timmy is what my friends call me.”

Timmy looked like he _did_ mind him asking though, curling in on himself then and pulling the ring on and off of his second knuckle. When he responded it was barely a whisper.

“I don’t think they wanted me to marry another man.”

Armie was beside himself. “You were murdered?” He asked, alarmed. Timmy nodded.

“By the oak tree, where we took our vows. I had gotten a note from my fiancé to meet him there, but – but it wasn’t him.”

Timmy sniffed and touched the back of his hand to his nose as if it were running. Armie winced, had to turn away, couldn’t help but imagine what Tim looked like when he lived, how fragile he would have been even with all of his muscles in order.

“Tim, I’m sorry,” Armie said, voice breaking. It was all he could say but it wasn’t enough. He put one hand on his shoulder, watched a real tear roll from Timmy’s eye.

“No, I’m sorry.” Timmy shook his head, wiping it away. “I’m sorry I brought you here, and called you darling. I was just so excited to be married to you. You’re a prince.”

Armie sighed. “I understand now. But Tim, I have two parents up in the world, and a fiancé that I was going to marry.”

Timmy let out a breath of his own, but nodded, resolute. “Okay. Then I will do everything in my power to help you, my husband, marry someone else.” He laughed at his own joke, stood up and held out his hand. When Armie gave him a look, he stared back innocently. “What? Can’t you hold my hand while we’re still married?”

Armie rolled his eyes. “Fine.” It was the least he could do. But as he walked through the various openings and into a room resembling a cheery pub, he cursed himself for thinking he owed anything to a dead man. A dead man who had trapped him in the underworld, no less. Timmy had his own way of charm, unlike Armie’s usual strategies.

“You’re incredibly warm. Almost blistering,” Timmy laughed, delighted.

Their fingers were interlocked, and Timmy had also begun to clutch the inside of his bicep. How bold! At least he was unable to drench Armie’s hand in sweat, a pet peeve he’d picked up courting women in town.

When they entered, the room erupted in applause. Timmy waved at them, pleased grin on his face.

“Such a lovely couple,” Armie heard them say. “Let’s make a toast!”

One skeleton man stood up on the bar, the contents of his mug spilling over. “To Timothée!” He proclaimed. “May this fulfill you.”

“To Timothée!” The crowd cheered. When they drank, the liquid went right through them, sloshing past their ribs and onto the floor. It just made them laugh.

Armie had never been around this much activity before. Who would have thought the world was most alive once you died?

“Alright love birds, break it up.” 

Timmy was pulled away from him and swallowed by the toasters. Armie squawked. He had made a comfortable crutch.

“Don’t worry about him, they’ve just gone to gossip.”

Armie turned around. Sat on a barstool was a man in double breasted velvet, blue with gold buttons lining the front. 

“I’m Nick. Timmy is a good friend, he deserves to be fulfilled.”

Armie shook his head. “Oh, we’re not - ”

“Conventional?” Nick finished. “Maybe not, but I saw the way he looked at you.”

Armie sighed, deciding not to correct him. Instead he sat on the stool next to Nick, who ordered him a drink and caught it once it slid their way.

“What does it mean to be fulfilled?” He asked, accepting it with a nod.

“It’s what we’re all waiting for. Why we’re all _here_ , and not…” Nick pointed to the ceiling.

“In the living world?” 

“A bit higher,” he offered.

“Oh. _Oh._ You mean…”

“Fulfillment.” Nick nodded.

Armie frowned, processing. “So… Timothée. What does he need?”

“Timmy’s stubborn, and weasels his way into becoming someone you care about.” Armie laughed, knew exactly what he meant. “But he’s a romantic. I think that’s what he’s holding out for.”

“That being…”

“True love.”

Of course. That was the only sure thing Armie had known about him from the beginning. Timmy wanted the husband he never got to have.

Armie let out a breath. “Can’t it be something else? Can it change?” He didn’t want to leave Timmy here like this. Not when this was the closest he’d gotten to fulfillment since he died. _Since he was murdered,_ Armie reminded himself guiltily.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Nick shrugged. “But don’t sell yourself short.”

“Right.”

“Armie! There’s someone I want you to meet!” Armie turned to see Timmy running toward him, tripping at the last second and falling into his lap. “Shit,” He cursed.

Armie leaned to follow his gaze and saw Timmy’s leg, from kneecap to loafer, sticking straight up a meter away. He laughed. Timmy’s lost limbs might be his most endearing quality. 

“Sorry,” Timmy mumbled, hauling himself up from Armie’s thighs and hopping over gracelessly. Armie steadied him as far as he could reach. He thought maybe Timmy would be blushing, if color could come to his cheeks.

“This, um - this is Saoirse.” Timmy said, waving his hand in the air as he dusted off his trousers. Armie looked around, but didn’t know who he was gesturing to.

“Pleasure.”

The voice was small and high pitched, and Armie realized it was coming from Timmy’s shoulder - from the spider dangling by his ear.

“Um, hi,” Armie waved. Just when he thought nothing else could surprise him.

“Saoirse’s my best friend, she lives in my ribs.” Timmy pulled the jacket of his tux away to show the intricate spider web in the hole of his dress shirt.

“Great. Nice to meet you.” Armie smiled weakly.

“He’s so handsome,” He heard her whisper.

“Yeah,” Timmy sighed back dreamily.

“Have you played for him yet?”

When the people around them heard her question, low murmurs turned into cheers. Everyone was encouraging Timmy to do something. Timmy just laughed shyly, ducking his head.

“Uh, darling,” Armie stuttered, not used to the word. “Shouldn’t we be going? Don’t we have a lot to _do_?” He wanted as much time focused on getting him back home as possible.

Timmy perked up. “Oh, yes! Husbandly duties. Saoirse, stay here with Nick.” Armie held out a hand for him to take.

“Is that so?” Saoirse dragged out suggestively. Timmy spun around.

“What? No! I don’t mean that!” The people around them laughed. 

“It’s fine, Timmy.” Armie blushed, pulling him along. “Let’s just go.”

“Please, just play one song, Timmy. One of the happier ones?” Saoirse put four legs together in prayer. Nick sipped his drink but agreed with a shrug.

“Okay…” Timmy sighed, eyeing Armie warily. He shrugged in defeat, but was surprised when Timmy pulled him along. The crowd parted to reveal a rickety piano in the corner of the bar. Timmy sat, then patted the bench so Armie would sit next to him. It was a tight squeeze.

“This is -” Timmy frowned thoughtfully, flexing his fingers. “I don’t know. I’ll make it up as I go along.”

Timmy began, starting soft and building to a crescendo. It was playful and spontaneous; Armie laughed at the twists and turns he made with the melody. Timmy smirked, let his hand dislocate and drag across the keys dramatically just to show off. A moment after, Armie joined him, going an octave higher and following his lead. 

Timmy, he found out, was a brilliant pianist; he moved through the keys swiftly to see if Armie could keep up. Soon he was smiling almost maniacally, adding his other hand, forcing Armie to get on his feet to maintain his pace. Their impromptu song came to a loud and heavy climax. Timmy laughed at Armie’s winded breaths.

Armie startled when the crowd applauded. It hadn’t felt like a show. They stood up and Timmy bowed. He gestured to Armie with a wide grin, who waved weakly. This place was really something else. 

It was even more difficult to leave after their performance. They stayed to chat, but Armie wasn’t annoyed. He was animated, even, as they made rounds. Timmy had that way about him, his clumsy presence always taken fondly. When they actually inched out and turned the corner, the hallways were so quiet compared to the raucous pub. 

“Sorry,” Timmy said, flustered.

“It’s fine Timmy, really.” Armie smiled. “That was fun. You don’t have to say sorry all the time.” He held out his hand as a peace offering.

“Right,” Timmy grinned, grabbed it with a relieved breath. 

“Where did you learn to play like that?”

“My mother taught me when I was young.”

“Your mother? Mine goes so far as to discourage me from playing. She says it gains nothing.”

“Gains nothing!” Timmy stopped in his tracks, looking horrified. “Losing music would be like losing a language. Like losing your own tongue!” Armie raised his eyebrows amusedly. Timmy shook his head. “Sorry. It’s just that the world would be so dull. Could you imagine?” Armie really, really could.

“Anyway, I think we should go to Luca. He might be able to find a loophole.” 

Luca’s lair was filled with stacks upon stacks of books, overstuffed on the shelves or piled on the tables and chairs. 

“Luca!” Timmy called out. The skeleton man appeared from behind a messy desk. “Luca, please, there has to be a way for Armie to reach the land of the living again.”

“Not to my knowledge.” He shook his head, placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Both of them deflated. Armie squeezed Timmy’s fingers hopefully.

“What about for just a little while? A day? A few months out of the year? I’m not even dead yet!” He huffed. Luca let out a thoughtful hum. He floated towards a particular stack of books, pulling out the third from the top and flipping to a page.

“Yes. That could be possible.” His finger traced the words carefully. “Here. I have just the spell. Are you ready now?”

Armie and Timmy looked at each other incredulously. “Now?” They asked in unison.

“Yes, I can cast it immediately. This will allow one to haunt, not inhabit; mind you. When you want to come back, say, ‘Scarecrow’.”

“Scarecrow?”

“Excellent.”

Luca picked up a wine glass and threw its contents down on them. Before Armie could flinch, he and Timothée were back in the forest, next to the oak tree as if nothing had happened. Armie let go of Timmy’s hand.

“Okay, so I need to go to the Everglot mansion and buy myself more time. I should talk to Olivia… or my parents? They must think I’m dead at this point -”

Armie stopped his pacing. “Timothée?” 

Timmy was stood in the same spot, his eyes half closed, his face upturned.

“I forgot how beautiful the moon is,” He smiled. 

Timmy looked out of the ordinary standing in his world, and not for the obvious reasons. He was bright, lively, unafraid to burst into laughter or tears. Amongst the rotting leaves his white suit looked pristine, his locks dipped in moonshine.

“Dance with me,” Timmy grinned, holding out a hand.

“Timothée,” Armie said again, in warning.

“What’s a wedding without a first dance!”

He grabbed Armie before he could protest, pulling him on to the makeshift dance floor. With so much enthusiasm, Armie couldn’t help but play along, winding one arm around Timmy’s waist and grasping his hand high up by their heads. He led them slantways across the forest floor and back again, spurred on by Timmy’s laughter. 

At one point he had dragged them too fast and Timmy’s foot went tumbling. Armie only smiled, danced Timmy around while he only had an ankle, said the lighter weight was easier to dip him with. He dipped Timmy four times - because his eyes would close and his head would fall back so easily.

When they slowed, Armie started humming a tune in Timmy’s ear, a much less sullen version of the one he’d played earlier in foyer. That seemed like ages ago. Timmy was quiet, chin hooked on his shoulder, the one foot he had left barely touching the ground. 

“You’re a good man,” Timmy whispered. 

“Not a good husband?” Armie teased. It earned a short chuckle. 

“Not for long.” 

Timmy wriggled out of his hold, clutched Armie’s shoulder as he hopped to find his shoe. In that time Armie wondered what it would have felt like to dance with Timmy while he was alive, with much less jagged edges or cracks for his fingers to slip through. But then, would he still smell of lavender?

The walk towards town was silent. Timmy had his hands in his pockets, a curtain of curls covering his eyes. When they got to the bridge, he lingered.

“I could stay here,” Timmy offered. 

“No,” Armie frowned. He knew in reality, that would be the best plan. Where else would he go? And it wasn’t like Timmy was in any danger standing here alone. He was the scariest thing in this forest.

“Yes,” Timmy smiled. It was wistful.

“What’s the matter?” Armie asked. “Am I a bad dancer?”

“You could have stepped on my toes for all I know.” 

Timmy laughed, but his face was insistent on remaining grim. For the first time, Armie had the urge to touch it, to pluck his cheek bones out of their slump and run his thumb over the crinkle between Timmy’s brows.

(Or maybe, for no other reason than to feel the over-taut skin. For no other reason than to gage Timmy’s reaction. 

No. That’d be senseless.)

He reached forward, but in panic, only moved a stray curl off of his forehead. Timmy watched him with his wide eyes.

“Wait here, then,” Armie said softly. He backed away, running towards the gates of town.

With Timmy out of sight, his head did seem less muddled. The church bell rang and he counted it’s chimes. Ten, eleven, twelve. He’d been gone for hours! Then, belatedly, he remembered - today was his wedding day.

First, he would go to his parents. He would apologize for his absence, barrel through his mother’s reprimands, and convince them he would fix things. Then, he would go to Olivia. He would charm her into postponing, lead her to believe it was her own idea. He just needed _time_. He wasn’t sure what to do once he got it, but he would cross that bridge later. 

When Armie got to his building, he peered into the first floor window and frowned. Maybe it was foolish of him to have hoped to see his parents sitting in the foyer, or stomping their feet impatiently in the halls. Surely, even the most shallow part of them wondered where he was for money’s sake?

He crept into the building and up the stairs. Before he could even reach the top floor, he heard the unmistakable sound of his father’s snoring, then the crunch of his mother’s curlers against the pillow as she stirred. They were asleep! Their own son had gone missing and they weren’t the least bit concerned. He turned midstep, saving his stomps for the cobblestone and brick.

Outside, through rage-colored goggles, he began nitpicking anything he passed. The smell of the slop in the fish market was god-awful. The houses were too lanky and dark. The sky was constantly grey. What had he missed in these few hours? Who had missed him?

But he stuck to his plan, turning through alleyways to find the gates of the Everglot mansion. He climbed the fence and fell into the garden, even surprising himself, despite his athletic build. As it turned out he didn’t have to plan a more elaborate heist, because Olivia Everglot was sitting on her porch, staring right at him.

“What are you doing out in the cold?” He panted, feigning nonchalance as he dusted himself off.

“I could ask you the same thing,” She replied bitterly. She was not scared of the man who just jumped her fence, only angry.

“Olivia…” Armie sighed. In all his haste, he’d forgotten to come up with a speech. “I need more time.” 

At the last second, he decided the truth would be better than charm. Timmy had charmed him _with_ the truth countless times that night.

Olivia considered this, now curious. “Where did you go?” she asked. 

“Into the forest, to clear my head.” Armie slicked down the back of his hair. “Don’t you think this is all happening too fast?”

“Of course I do!” She laughed. Armie laughed too, relieved, and climbed her porch steps to kneel by her chair.

“Then can’t we agree to stop all of this? Cancel the wedding until we’re more comfortable?” He took her hand, and she blushed. Maybe this would actually work. He was already imagining himself going back to Timmy with the good news. “I’ve taken care of it, _darling._ ” He’d tease.

“Promise me you’ll try to talk to your parents,” Armie pleaded. 

“You know that’s not my decision,” She sighed, leaning closer, tipping his chin up. “But I do want to get to know you a little more.”

“So, is that it?”

At the sound of the broken voice, Armie turned to see Timmy at the foot of the porch steps. His eyes were tear-filled, and his hands were clenched into fists.

“Timothée,” Armie said, trying to explain.

“What do you gain from breaking my heart? I’ve already been left in the _dirt_.”

He’d never seen Timmy angry. It didn’t fit his doe-ish features. 

“Who is this, Armie?” Olivia asked, ducking down to push him in front of her.

“His husband,” Timmy snapped, wiping his face. “Scarecrow.”

Just like that, they were back in Luca’s study. Armie cursed. He was so close! Timmy immediately started climbing over the stacks of books to get to the exit.

“You ruined everything!” Armie said frustratedly. “I was fixing it!”

“I didn’t mean for _you_ to come back with me,” Timmy shot back. Armie felt the words pierce him. He responded just as cruelly.

“You knew why I went there, that I had a _fiancé_ to talk to.” It made Timmy shake his head, his laugh bitter.

“Well then the least you could’ve done was not pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Armie spat. 

“That I meant something to you.”

He turned and walked out, leaving Armie alone in the study with his thoughts.

Very quickly, Timmy had begun to mean something to him. Like Nick said, Timmy had a way of weaseling himself close. But it was more than that. Armie let him so easily. What could that mean for them? Timmy was dead. No matter how fond he was of him, Armie could never be with Timmy in _that way._ He could never hold him without his limbs snapping. He could never kiss lips that weren’t cold and dry.

Armie’s eyes began to sting. He still wanted to, regardless.

Armie left the study quickly to go after him. There were too many ways to turn and no Timmy in sight. As he was about to panic, Armie heard the faint whisper of something to his left. A piano, slightly out of tune.

He followed the sound to find Timmy, his back facing him, his fingers twittering between two notes. Armie walked towards the bench and sat beside him, staring at his profile, his hair getting in the way of his face. Then, he looked down at the keys and pressed one with his thumb.

At first Timmy froze, side eyeing him suspiciously, but Armie waited until he pressed the key too. Armie added another, then another, until they were playing a whole melody in synch.

It was the song he hummed in the forest, the one he whispered into Timmy’s ear as they danced. Timmy listened with a small smile. His eyes flitted between Armie’s fingers and his own. He stopped and reached out slowly - asking for permission. When Armie nodded, Timmy put a bony hand on top of his as he played.

“When I wrote this song, it was a lot sadder,” Armie said, continuing his movements. Timmy didn’t respond, busy tracing the dips and peaks of Armie’s knuckles. “To think you’ve changed it so quickly,” He chuckled. “The same with me.” Armie lulled the music to a stop and turned toward him.

“Timmy,” Armie whispered.

When he breathed in, he tasted lavender.

In no time Timmy’s head was on his chest, arms wrapped around him with a desperate grip. Armie returned the embrace just as tightly.

“Sorry,” Timmy sniffed.

”I’m not.”

Armie wasn’t sorry he said his vows to Timmy last night. Not when he felt more in a couple hours than he had in years.

“I’d decided to be selfless,” Timmy groaned. “You should be with your family. Running after you was a lapse in judgement.”

Armie rubbed his back, felt each ridge of his vertebra. “Are you really trying to take back everything you said?” He laughed.

“No,” Timmy nuzzled closer. “I want you so badly.”

Timmy gave off no warmth, but Armie felt it in his chest.

“Marry me, then.” He challenged. 

“What?”

“Yes! Marry me, in a real church, with real wine and candles.” Armie pulled them apart, held Timmy’s face in his hands. “Marry me,” He repeated.

“You want to marry me again?” Timmy laughed, incredulous.

“I want to do this right. When I take my vows, I want to look you in the eyes.”

Timmy stared at him in wonder, his eyes shining, so Armie began to run his finger over the bridge of his nose, down his temple, into the hollow of his cheeks. He inched closer and put his lips on the corner of Timmy’s jaw. 

“You are my prince,” Timmy breathed. 

“You are mine,” Armie shrugged.

\--

Once things were set in motion, the plan became simple. They invited _everyone_ , didn’t expect any empty pews. They asked Luca to be the one to marry them. And to get all the dead into the town’s church. 

The sun was still a few hours from rising, so when Luca poured his concoction on the crowd, all of them strolling over the bridge and into town must have been a sight. It definitely frightened that wretched priest, who stood his ground for only a few seconds before crumpling to the floor. 

Nick served as Armie’s best man, holding Saoirse (who was Timmy’s) on his shoulder. They were here, at the front of the church, staring at each other in earnest. Armie held out his hand for Timmy to take.

“Are you ready to say your vows?” Luca asked. 

“With this hand,” Armie raised it. “I will lift your sorrows.”

“With this hand,” Timmy repeated, “I will lift your sorrows.”

“Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” He lifted the chalice to his lips, then lifted it to Timmy’s.

“Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

“With this ring,” Armie slipped the band onto Timmy’s finger, where it had been the whole night. “I ask you to be mine.” Timmy grinned wide, so giddy he was barely standing still.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Armie whispered.

There was no time for Timmy to repeat the vows, because as soon as the band sat snug on his finger, it began to shine brighter than it ever had before, illuminating Timmy’s face and pushing back his hair.

“What’s happening?” Armie yelled.

The wind started to whip around him, so quick that Timmy was floating mid-air. The ring was turning everything - the stained glass, the aisles and pews - bright gold.

“Fulfillment,” Nick yelled back.

Armie’s eyes went wide. “No,” He panicked. “No, please;” 

Timmy couldn’t leave him here. 

“Armie, what do I do?” Timmy asked. “What do I do?” Timmy asked again.

“I don’t know,” Armie said, his voice breaking. This was all he had wanted for him in the beginning, but now it felt like a nightmare.

“Luca, do something,” Armie yelled. 

“Timmy is fulfilled,” He replied, standing unsteadily. “We can do nothing but watch.”

So Armie watched as Timmy broke apart piece by piece. He watched as Timmy’s face became too skewed to see. Timmy’s gold-hued skin floated higher towards the ceiling, then flapped its wings and took flight. Timmy was a million golden butterflies.

That was when everything went white.

\--

Armie opened his eyes and he was lying on the floor of the church. It was quiet. His head hurt.

“Timmy?” He squinted, still adjusting to the room. He didn’t see anyone. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. “What happened?”

“Nothing, darling. You took a fall.”

He shot up. “Timmy?” He looked around.

There in front of him was Timmy. Timmy, with plush lips. Timmy, with creamy skin. Timmy, with bright green eyes.

“It’s you,” Armie breathed. He cupped Timmy’s cheeks, ran his thumbs under his eyes. Timmy was crying. 

“You did this,” He smiled. His grin turned to laughter. “You did this!” He yelled.

“I didn’t do anything,” Armie laughed. “Except love you, a little.”

Timmy was beautiful. Armie ran his hands all over his face and neck. They were warm. They turned red and splotchy quickly.

“I love you,” Timmy whispered.

Armie kissed him. He kissed his eyelids and his nose. He kissed his lips, then his lips again. Later, Armie undressed him and kissed every inch of his unblemished skin. Now, he kissed his neck. It still smelled of lavender.

 

(They leave town. Timmy shows him places. He had a lot of time to learn and Luca had a lot of books. Sometimes, there are words in the spiderwebs they find in their apartment. Timmy keeps them all. Their house, consequently, looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in years.

They write music. Armie refuses to wear grey. They dance to their music. When Timmy falls, his legs stay on his body.

When Armie falls, Timmy holds out a hand. He takes it.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of crazy. this is definitely very crazy. but it was a lot of fun
> 
> Happy Halloween!


End file.
